


In Essence

by gypsyweaver



Category: Alternate_Omens, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, weirdetherealsex
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gabriel Fell, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archangels Are Siblings, Aziraphale is Beelzebub, Beelzebub Has a Penis (Good Omens), Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Beelzebub Whump, Beelzebub is Remiel, Crowley is Iblis, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, Gabriel is Belial, Graphic Description, Hell is Not Nice, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Intersex Beelzebub (Good Omens), Light Bondage, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Michael is Molloch, No Beta, Non-Consensual Bondage, Other, Pain, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Raphael is Asmodeus, Reversed Ineffable Bureacracy, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Sexual Content, She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Smut, The Angels Fell, The Author Regrets Nothing, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Triggers, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: In another universe, the former Archangel Gabriel is Belial, king of Hell. He's doing great until Lord Beelzebub (formerly Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate), the overindulgent Cat Prince of Hell arrives in his office with some very unwelcome news. The Archangel Remiel, Belial's main contact in Heaven, is in one of the black cells. And she's not looking too healthy.There's only one way to save her, and he's not about to let her die without a fight.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	1. Black and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: Torture, past gang rape, trauma

“Enter.”

The demon Prince who entered Belial’s office bore very little resemblance to the Principality of the Eastern Gate that he had once been. About as much resemblance as Belial bore to what he once had been, if the King of Hell was honest with himself. The demon Prince, soft and round, smiled with a feral arrogance that communicated (highest amongst all things) his terrible, endless hunger.

“Prince Beelzebub,” Belial said, amiably. “What brings you here today?”

“My lord,” Prince Beelzebub returned with a curt bow. He laced his thick fingers together in front of him, gently brushing the deep cobalt waistcoat that he nearly always wore. “A spot of bother, unfortunately. A couple of my agents, you see? They...obtained...an asset from the enemy. A rather important one. Truly, you should have been notified immediately. But they kept her in the black cells, without informing me.”

“I assume that they’re being disciplined?” Belial said, still bright in his tone.

Belial was trying to puzzle out what Prince Beelzebub’s problems with his subordinates had to do with him. If they’d obtained someone important enough, surely, he would have already heard from Remiel. Prisoner exchange, ransom, and all that.

“Of course. But it IS indeed, a spot of bother,” said the Prince, fiddling with his black lace cravat. The elliptical pupils in his deep blue eyes narrowed to slits, revealing a nervousness that was rare in the Prince of Indulgence. “You see, my lord, they brought in Prince Asmodeus. And Prince Molloch, and Prince Mammon, and quite a few others, actually.”

“And?”

“They were a bit...overenthusiastic, really. Poor thing is barely alive. I want you to know that I did come to you as soon as I was made aware. They brought me down there, wanted to know if I wanted a go with her.”

Prince Beelzebub’s face contorted, a twisted grimace that reminded Belial that the Cat Prince found the other demons’ appetites to be as distasteful as ever. Or maybe it was that they’d captured a female. The Prince had only enjoyed the company of males.

Well, one male.

Still, Prince Beelzebub must want the creature in the dungeons for something, if not her body. And that still had fuck all to do with Belial, as far as he could see.

His time was a precious resource and he wasn’t about to let the Great Pussycat of Hell toy with him like some squirming rodent.

“Princes handle their own property disputes. If Prince Asmodeus won’t give you back your toy, you ought to take it up with him.”

“Err...well...that’s the problem. In a nutshell. You see, she isn’t MY toy, my lord.”

“Whose toy...?”

“Most properly, yours,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Though I believe that Lucifer may have exercised a claim on her since he _escorted_ us out of the Garden.”

Remiel.

“Where?” Belial asked, grabbing his coat.

“I can take you to her.”

~*~

Some of the chubby demon’s nervousness was due to the fact that Belial (the Eternal Darkness, the Great Satan, the End of all Light and Life, the Spider of the Underworld, Ruler of Hell and all Municipalities Thereof) could have discorporated him with a thought and left him at the not-so-tender mercies of whoever found him in one of the soul cages.

The greater part of the Cat Prince’s unease, which Belial knew (and was mostly certain that the Prince did not know that he knew) is that he was looking at some incredibly dire consequences for his home life.

Prince Beelzebub’s household remained a tightly kept secret, yet Belial had ferreted it out (once the Archangel of communication, always the Archangel of communication).

A couple of millennia ago, over oysters in Rome, Prince Beelzebub had managed to regain what was once his in the Garden. He maintained a home on Earth with the Seraphim Iblis, the Starhanger.

And Iblis was very close friends with Remiel.

Remiel.

The black cells were an unpleasant necessity. The demons needed a place to frolic. To really vent. And they were supposed to be having a war in the next few years. There might be captives. Only a black cell could hold the ethereal.

Besides which, there were the occasional angels that managed to run afoul of a demon or twenty.

All good fun, torturing the featherbrains a bit. Until ransoms and prisoner exchanges could be worked out. Belial himself never partook. He couldn’t stand the smell of burning feathers.

And Remy wouldn’t like it.

“Look, my love! I made it for you!”

He remembered the soft golden light on their face, the joy that radiated off of their entire corporation. Scent of lavender, the first field of it, and a million tiny lights dancing around them. The curious little bugs lit the flowers, his white robes, and their sweet face. One lighted on the top of their head.

He held out a hand, and two landed in his palm.

“They’re...perfect. What are they?”

“Adam says that they’re ‘lightning bugs’, or ‘fireflies’. He suspects that it’s going to be regional...I hope more lightning bugs than fireflies. I just called them ‘Gabriels’ until Adam named them.”

He kissed them on their forehead, brushing back their inky hair to do it. The insects left his palm and he gathered their face in his hands. They closed their eyes as his lips fell on theirs.

“They’re perfect, but...Remy, everything that you make, you make for God.”

“God can make her own Gabriels,” Remiel said, stubbornly. “These are yours.”

“You’re going to get yourself into some real trouble someday, you know that?”

“Please,” they said, with a sweet little smirk. “I’m leadership material.”

He had actually laughed at that.

So, they swept his feet out from underneath him with a move that he’d taught them himself, and then they were on him. Laughing, kissing, tearing his robes off of him. Making wild, ecstatic love in the lavender. Under the stars that their dear friend had just hung.

“She’s in here,” Prince Beelzebub said, bringing Belial back to the present with a dainty sniff.

The cold iron door creaked open at his touch. The air smelled ethereal, unsurprising with the sheer amount of golden blood that streaked the floors and the walls. Mixed with blackish smears of demon blood.

And seed.

In the corner nearest to the door, he saw a heap of clothing, ripped to shreds and covered in smears of something black and foul-smelling. Most of the angel’s feathers were there, though they had fallen over the floor like snow and collected in bloodstained drifts where angry feet had kicked them.

Remiel was in the farthest corner. She still had her wings, though they were nude of feathers. She curled them around herself.

Her fear was stronger than the smell of her blood. Fear, tinged with despair. It was not an emotion that he had ever felt from her.

The silver collar that they used to restrain the angels gleamed around her neck. In the low light of the chamber, it might have been an elegant, understated choker.

It wasn’t.

Belial stepped over to her, avoiding as much of the filth as he could. Her blue eyes peered out from a gap between her wrecked wings.

“Remiel?” he asked softly. He laid a hand on one wing. The wing was broken, a bone poking through her fair skin and leaking gold blood to a pool on the floor.

She was cold to his touch, which was saying something, as cold as Belial was. He pulled the wing up to see her face. She winced from the pain.

“Please, not you too?” she asked, eyes squeezed shut.

She was not begging, just asking. He knew what she sounded like when she begged.

“As I said,” Prince Beelzebub began, “I told you as soon as I was made aware. And I ordered the lot of them out of here.”

“I believe you,” Belial replied. And he did believe the Prince. He was going to have quite a lot to answer for from Iblis when he found out. “You are excused, Prince Beelzebub.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He heard the light footfalls of the Prince receding, and turned his attention back where it belonged. Back to Remiel. Golden bruises bloomed on her skin. She’d been branded across her broken wings. He recognized the sigils of Molloch, Asmodeus, Leviathan, and Mammon. Several Dukes had marked her as well.

She leaked gold and black from several vulvar mouths, randomly stuck onto her corporation. Efforts installed by Prince Asmodeus, he didn’t doubt it. He ran a finger along one of them, on her shoulder, beneath the wing. It was bruised, torn.

“Please, Belial...please, no...”

And now, Remiel was begging.

He clicked the collar off of her and threw it across the room. “Can you heal yourself?”

She shook her head. “Too weak. They took too much.”

So those were bites. They’d bled the little Archangel down. No wonder she was cold.

He pulled her into his arms, and she did not resist him. His hands ran over her corporation, pausing at the torn little mouth between her bruised, bitten breasts. She allowed his touch, did not struggle as he entered the vaginal channel with his fingers. As he suspected, the channel that Prince Asmodeus had created was lined with slick lumps that felt like pearls still enfleshed in an oyster.

Clitorises. The Prince of Lust had wanted to force her to orgasm. No matter how brutally they used her. To force her to give up as much of her ethereal essence as possible.

Prince Asmodeus probably felt that he had the right. He was her teacher, once.

Belial drew his fingers out of her, and she gasped.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

She shook her head, golden blood tiptoeing to the skin of her cheeks. “No,” she said. “It didn’t hurt.”

Belial sighed. He didn’t want to do any more damage than they’d already done. He was no healer. Unfortunately, the best healer in Hell was Prince Asmodeus. Belial would see to it that he fixed her. But first, he wanted to know how she ended up in this room.

“How did they capture you?” he asked, cradling her close to himself.

Remiel snuggled into him. Maybe some part of her remembered who he once was to her, or maybe she merely remained the sweet, trusting soul that he remembered from the Garden. Maybe she was just using him for the small amount of heat that he could give her. Her blood and the seed of many, many demons soaked into his very expensive suit.

“Pollution,” she said, after a moment. “It was a blitz attack. Five demons and Pollution. I should have been able to handle the demons myself. But after Pollution hit me with whatever it was, it was over for me. I don’t know what they used. It was black, and it stank...”

Only one Archangel was susceptible to Pollution. The one who was tasked with maintaining the cleanliness of the Garden. Pollution was not, strictly speaking, an agent of Heaven nor Hell. Still, their work was far more Hellish than Heavenly. And they did have a particular beef with Remiel, who kept cleaning up their messes whenever she encountered one.

Belial had read The Silent Spring. He knew what Pollution was capable of. Pollution was reason number one that Remiel spent very little time on Earth.

Humans created Pollution, and only humans could destroy them. Belial was powerless against Pollution. Much as he’d like to rip Chalky’s sooty throat out for this.

“What happened after?”

“Black cell, silver collar,” she said, with a soft shrug. “Do you want the details?”

“I need to know who,” he said gently. “Just who.”

She named the five demons who had captured her. Two of them were, indeed, Prince Beelzebub’s. Then she rattled off a veritable who’s who of Hell. All of the Princes, excepting Beelzebub. Many of the dukes.

Nobody told him. Unlike the angels, the demons remembered. They knew who she was to him.

“Don’t be too mad with them,” she said, reaching a gentle, blood-streaked hand for his cheek. The gesture was achingly tender in its familiarity. He had no right to it. “Asmodeus told them that I was a gift to them. From you. That you had seduced me here. The demons who captured me may have believed that the order came from you. I don’t know.” She paused as a shudder wracked her body. “I’m so cold. I think I’m dying, Belial.”

“Discorporating?” Belial asked.

“No. There’s something wrong...with my soul. Am I Falling?”

Belial reached out, felt her essence. It was pure, and yet...

“No. Not Falling, but...” Belial said, trying to be reassuring.

He could feel something in her essence. Something that he hadn’t felt since the war between Heaven and Hell. An angel was dying. This angel.

His angel.

He summoned Prince Asmodeus with a thought. Prince Asmodeus appeared before them, nude and hard. Remiel clung to Belial’s lapels and buried her face in his chest.

“I was busy,” Prince Asmodeus said. He leaned against the wall, cock jutting and a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, you found your little birdie. Molloch plucked her for you.”

“Heal her, or I’ll end you.” Belial’s voice was cold and dispassionate.

“We’re all equals here, brother. You don’t get to push me around so easily. What makes you think I acted alone, anyways?”

“RAPHAEL!” Belial bellowed the demon Prince’s old name. “You will heal her. Now.”

“Claiming her back from Lucifer, then, Gabe?” Prince Asmodeus asked, examining his fingernails. “About time, I say. Sure. I’ll heal her. Want me to give you _everything_ that God took away?”

Belial knew what Prince Asmodeus was asking. The skin of Remiel’s groin was smooth, unblemished by any Effort. He’d stuck twenty Efforts on Remiel, but none where an Effort should properly go.

“Make her whole,” Belial commanded. “Make _them_ whole.”

Prince Asmodeus shrugged. “Sure,” he said casually. “I had a great deal of hope for you once, Remiel. I really did. You disappointed me, kiddo.”

“Raphael?” Remiel said softly. “But you were lost in the war...”

“Not exactly, and don’t call me that. Ever again.” He paused. “Look, Belial, if you want me to fix your toy, you’re going to have to let me touch her.”

Belial nodded and laid Remiel on the hard, stone floor. “Do it,” he told Prince Asmodeus.

Prince Asmodeus smirked at him, and knelt beside the Archangel. Remiel took a deep breath and did not cringe away from the Prince.

“Good little birdie,” Prince Asmodeus said. “This goes a lot easier for you if you don’t struggle.”

Remiel nodded slowly, and Belial knew that Prince Asmodeus had already said those words to her, under very different circumstances.

Prince Asmodeus began to close the holes that he’d made. There was a wet crunch as he snapped a bone back into place. “Someone had a little too much fun, here.”

Remiel grimaced, and a groan leaked from her lips as Prince Asmodeus set and healed her wing. His cock laid against Remiel’s arm, which seemed to make her more uncomfortable than the pain did. Prince Asmodeus hummed a soft tune as another bone crunched into place. Remiel coughed, and cried out softly as golden blood leaked from her lips.

Prince Asmodeus laughed at the little Archangel’s suffering.

Belial held his tongue.

If the other princes were plotting against him, they could probably defeat him. One of the problems in trying to wrangle a bunch of rebels, Belial knew, is that they were a heartbeat away from rebelling again. He was powerful, more powerful than all of them, but not undefeatable.

Not if they acted in concert.

Anyways, Prince Asmodeus was probably the only person capable of fixing the damage that he had caused. Best to let him be done with it.

Prince Asmodeus rolled Remiel onto her side, and she curled around Belial’s knees. He reached out and stroked her face. Remiel closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

“Wings, birdie,” Prince Asmodeus said.

Remiel obliged him, stretching her nude wings out to the Prince.

“I was the first to mark her. First to fuck her, too. I want you to know that,” the Prince said. “Molloch decided to rip her feathers out, and she did. The screaming, oh, Belial! She’s got pipes for days.” He laughed. “But you tried to be brave, didn’t you, birdie? Took her a while to make a damned sound. And by the time we were done with her, she wasn’t saying much. Mouthful of dick’ll do that. Can’t believe that you kept her all to yourself in the Garden. You selfish piece of shit.”

Belial didn’t rise to the bait. He swallowed hard as Remiel buried her face in his lap. Remiel’s eyes squeezed shut as Prince Asmodeus ran his hands over the abused flesh of her wings. The brands and the other marks of her abuse healed. Belial stroked her hair, trying to give her some small comfort.

Prince Asmodeus ran his hands over Remiel’s wings again, and the flesh exploded with feathers. Remiel whimpered into Belial’s leg as the feathers stretched to their full length.

“Liked that, didn’t you? It’s not all pain, birdie,” Prince Asmodeus said. The look on his face was so very close to the face that he once wore as God’s healer. Concern knit his brow, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Get over here,” he barked, yanking Remiel back from Belial.

Remiel yelped, and her eyes held nothing but crystal blue terror.

“Calm down, birdie,” Prince Asmodeus crooned as he yanked her legs apart. “Boss man gave me an order, and I’m just following it.”

Remiel breathed in little hitches, her eyes fixed on Belial. He reached for her, grabbing her hand.

“I’m here, Remy,” he said. “He won’t hurt you.”

Prince Asmodeus clicked his tongue dismissively, and started humming again as he formed the Efforts that Remiel had once favored.

“We aren’t supposed to be one or the other,” Remiel had told him once. “I thought I’d be both.”

Belial hadn’t minded. They were capable with both Efforts, and he’d taken his pleasure with each in turn.

Remiel’s grip on his hand tightened as Prince Asmodeus entered her with his fingers, molding the flesh inside. A tear slipped from her eye, which she swatted away with her free hand.

Prince Asmodeus leaned back on his heels to examine his work. With another wave, all of the filth that had crusted Remiel’s skin disappeared. “There you go,” he said. “Enjoy her while you can, bro. She’s gonna die in the next few hours.”

“I told you to heal her!”

“I healed the flesh, Gabe,” Prince Asmodeus said. “I didn’t heal the soul. I can’t. The rot that Pollution put inside her? Oh, and everything we did after? She’s got...eh...four hours, tops. Unless you’re willing to transfer some of your essence into her, and we all know what that would do.”

Belial knew. He knew quite well. When an angel was in the cells, and the pain or the damage got too extreme, a transfer of essence might be used to keep them going. Infernal and ethereal warred with each other. If the infernal won (if the angel accepted the demon that was torturing them, if they consented), the angel would Fall.

A transfer of essence. Remiel would live, but she had so little of her ethereal nature left...he would have to give her so much of himself, that she would likely Fall.

“Either she dies, or she joins us,” Prince Asmodeus said, confirming that this was the other demons’ plan, all along. “Molloch and Mammon and I agree. She’s too much of a distraction to you. Take her back, or she dies. Either way,” he shrugged, “problem solved. If there’s nothing further, my lord?” Prince Asmodeus gave a mocking, exaggerated bow (made somehow worse by the fact that he was still hard) and then disappeared before Belial could dismiss him.

“Cold...” Remiel said. “Belial, please. Belial...”

She was begging again. Belial gathered her up in his arms, reacquainting himself to the feel of her soft body, the weight of her wings. It had been so long since he’d held her like this.

Remiel was not a distraction. He’d kept her at arm’s length, and God, that had been hard. Every time that he saw her, every negotiation, every meeting, she’d do something to remind him of why he’d fallen in love with her.

But she remembered nothing, and that was as God wanted it. Who was he to question God, who had charged him with the care of the realms of Hell?

He served Her divine will. Remiel was made to forget him. And Remiel was placed in charge of Heaven’s Earth Operations.

They worked together.

Lucifer, the mouthpiece of God. They were lovers now, weren’t they? As much as they could be lovers without Efforts. Maybe he could love her back to health?

“I need to get you back to Heaven,” he said. “Lucifer...he might be able to fix it.”

“How?” Belial asked.

“Essence transfer,” Belial said, trying to keep his tone level. Dispassionate.

“No,” Belial said, shaking her (their) head. “The poison that they used...I don’t know what it is, but they were very clear that it’s contagious to anything ethereal.”

Remiel would not Fall because of him. Belial had been so careful to keep her out of Hell. His sweet angel would not survive well in Hell.

But he didn’t want her to die.

‘God, please take pity on Your servant,’ Belial prayed, silently. ‘Help me help her.’

A shine of silver caught his eye. The collar.

He knew what he had to do. It would save her (them). Remiel wouldn’t Fall. He stood up, shifting Remiel into a more comfortable position. The collar zipped into his hand, and he laid a soft kiss on his angel’s brow.

She stared up at him, her gaze as sweet as it had ever been. Her look was pure and trusting. So trusting. She closed her eyes, snuggled into him.

Oh God, why did she trust him so much? It made what he was about to do so much worse.

Remiel’s eyes opened when the silver collar clicked into place. There was surprise and betrayal writ large all over her face.

“Well, if I’ve only got a few hours, I’m going to enjoy them,” he told her.


	2. Spider and Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's getting darker. Content warnings in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Rape, graphic rape, forced drugging, violent (but not bloody) rape

“Well, if I’ve only got a few hours, I’m going to enjoy them,” he told her.

“No...” she said, weakly. “Please, Belial...not you...you’re kind...”

“I’m a demon, sunshine,” he said. “Maybe you forgot? Thought we were friends? Whatever. Until you die, you’re mine.”

“You were mad at them...for hurting me...”

“Did it not occur to you that I might have been mad because I wasn’t invited to the party?” Belial asked, his voice a razorblade in velvet.

“No, it did not,” and there was a steely conviction to her words. “I know you. You’re not like this. You wouldn’t...” Here, she faltered. Here was her doubt. “You wouldn’t hurt me like that.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, angel,” he snarled down at her. Her eyes went wide. “I am like this. I’ve killed a ton of you over the years, what’s one more, huh?”

Something like acceptance softened her.

“Well, if I’m going to die anyways...you’d do it cleanly.”

“This isn’t mercy, angel,” he began, his voice low and dangerous. “Maybe I’m just mad because I’m going to lose a very valuable contact upstairs. There appears to be absolutely jack that I can do about it--bad luck for both of us really. So, why not fuck you? Sunshine, you don’t remember the Garden, but I do. You were mine once, so if you’re going to die, you’re going to do it with my dick in you.”

She shivered. “Please, Belial. Please don’t...”

“Boy, I hope you remember how to use that mouth of yours for more than begging,” Belial said.

An obscene eagerness had slipped into his voice. One that he realized was not entirely affected.

He carried her out of the stinking dungeons. Belial was in the lift when Remiel really began to struggle. He held her tight. She was a formidable fighter when she was healthy. When she wasn’t collared. Now, though, she was as weak as a toddler, with no miracles to help her. Belial just held her more tightly as she wiggled.

She was weeping when he carried her over the threshold to his quarters. He could make out her words.

“Not you...not you...God, help me...Belial...this isn’t you...”

Her fear was strong enough for him to taste it, acrid and choking in its strength.

He crossed to the bedroom. Like the rest of Hell, Belial’s quarters were elegant, modern, and understated. Clean lines, classic style. He tossed the angel onto his bed.

He rarely used the bed. Evil never sleeps, as it turns out. And he’d never taken a lover. He’d never found anyone who loved as passionately and aggressively as God’s-Compassion-Whether-You-Want-It-Or-Not.

He wanted it. He wanted her. God, he hated himself for it.

Belial dropped his soiled jacket off of his shoulders, pulled the tie from his neck, and started on the buttons of his shirt.

Remiel was coughing again, shivering and pulling her wings around her. She retreated against the smoke-grey leather Chesterfield headboard. Pressed herself into it.

She was trying to blend in, and with the sick, grey cast of her skin, she could.

He pulled his belt off. Shoes, socks, and pants went to the chair with his jacket and shirt. He uptugged his undershirt and skinned his underwear off of him, laying them in the pile.

Belial looked at the angel dying on his bed. He loved her. Them. His angel. Remiel. He could save her. Could do it without causing her to Fall.

Maybe, eventually, he’d be able to explain it to her. To them.

He crawled across the bed. He was fast, and Remiel was in no shape to defend herself. She tried when he was on her. Tried with teeth and fingernails to protect herself. Belial was faster, stronger, and (most importantly) not actively dying.

He shoved her against the headboard, hands over her head. His mouth fell on her neck, kisses peppering the skin here and there above her silver collar. She kicked out weakly, so he sat on her legs.

“Relax,” he growled into her ear. “It’s not like you’re not going to enjoy it.”

She struggled more fiercely, before her body gave out. She slumped against the headboard, the sobs wracking her as he began to explore her body with his free hand.

God, she still smelled so sweet.

His kisses became nips, until he found the spot he was looking for. The artery that fed her brain. Carotid. Right there.

His narrow fangs sank into her flesh easily. Belial felt his venom flow into her. A mild muscle relaxant, and--most important for his purposes--a strong euphoric.

Belial fondled a breast, felt the flesh rise under his touch. Remiel whimpered, but it might have been a sigh. It wasn’t a sigh, but Belial decided to pretend that it was.

Her gaze was unfocused, when Belial met her eyes. Her emotions slipped away from him, the sting of her fear and pain. That was a property of his venom. It made it hard for his victims (not that there had been many over the years, victims) to feel any strong emotions.

The venom was in her quickly, because of her small size, her physical weakness, and the massive dose.

He summoned his silk. Spider silk. Wrapped it around her wrists. Securing her.

“Calm down, sunshine,” he said, one hand still holding her wrists. The other hand reached down, gathering the soft flesh of her Effort and working it to life. “Tell me you don’t like this...”

“I don’t want...please, Belial...”

“You ought to want to please Belial,” he said, jovially. “If you’ve only got a few hours left on this planet, why not spend them like this?”

Her Effort began to harden. She held her face away from him, but he could see her fair skin flushing gold as he worked her.

His lips brushed hers. Remiel startled, then tried to bite him.

Belial laughed, and threw her over his lap. She thrashed, but her movements were uncoordinated. By the end of it, she was draped over his lap and slapping him with a wing. While annoying, it wasn’t going to stop him.

Remiel was breathing hard, trying to plan her next move in a brain that was swimming in venom.

“Stop with the wings unless you want to lose them,” Belial said, tone going dispassionate and cold. “Put them up.”

Remiel slapped him hard one last time before obeying him, sliding her wings into the second plane.

“Just be a good angel, huh?” He reached between her legs, to the cock that was still stiffening. “I can be good to you, or I can make this hurt.”

She buried her face into the fabric of his duvet (stuffed with angel down, but Remiel didn’t need to know that), and cried out as he stroked her.

It was not a cry of pain.

Pleasure was fine, but essence transfer required penetration. Belial released her cock and began to stroke the swollen lips of her slit. The flesh parted for him, and he slipped a curious finger inside her. She was wet, so wet for him. Still cool to his touch, but warming. He began stretching her, stroking the walls inside, running a finger, and then another, over the crenulations of her flesh.

She felt right inside. No surprise clitorises or weird formations.

That was expected, if Prince Asmodeus was not lying about the plan that he and the others had for Remiel. If Remiel kept climaxing, she probably _would_ die on Belial’s dick.

Her little whimpers gave way to a groan that Belial knew in his bones. She began to push back against his hand. Began to whisper something that sounded suspiciously like his name.

His old name.

Well, he’d never tested the mind expanding properties of his venom. And he hadn’t really thought about what it might do in conjunction with the toxin that she’d already took in. It was possible that she just remembered his conversation with Asmodeus, but...

Belial lifted her off of his lap and laid her down on the pillows. He slid next to her, over her, his dark hair falling in his face, somewhat obscuring her from his sight. He pushed his hair back, and took her in.

Remiel drew her arms, crossed and bound, up to her chest. Almost in prayer. He leaned down, kissed her face, and her lips sought his.

“Gabriel,” she moaned into the kiss. “Where did you go, my love? I missed you.”

“Look again, sunshine,” he said. “I’m not your Gabriel.”

 _Not anymore_.

She did look, confusion on her face. “Belial?” she asked. “Oh, Belial...I’m so happy to see you. I need help. You see, I think I’m dying. And I may have misplaced...someone dear to me...”

If being in Hell had not already rendered Belial half-mad, this would have surely done it.

Her tone was professional, as if she was not laying naked in his bed. As if her wrists were not bound with his silks. As if he was not stroking her inner thigh, working his way up to her Efforts.

It was the venom. It took Remiel’s pain away. It confused her mind. As Belial had wanted it to.

“I can’t help you there, angel,” he said, lowering his lips to her neck. “I’m a bit busy right now.”

She sighed under his lips, and this time it really was a sigh. Not a whimper.

“I believe that both of our offices have policies against this,” Remiel said. She wasn’t struggling anymore. Her face flushed gold, and the rest of her was warming.

“Not my office,” he replied. His hand found her cock, and began to stroke her. He kissed her neck, where he had bitten her. Then lower, to one breast, drawing the nipple into his mouth and teasing it with teeth and tongue.

“Belial...” she moaned. “Belial, no...”

“Just afraid you’ll get in trouble?”

“No...well, yes. Lucifer is a stickler.”

“Lucifer is in love with you.”

“Who told you that?”

“Do me a favor and stop talking, sunshine,” Belial said, kissing her deeply enough to taste the golden blood that she’d been coughing up.

“I’m so sorry, Belial,” she said, when he broke the kiss. “I’m just afraid. I don’t know why. Oh yes, I think I’m dying. Belial...please help me. I think I’m dying.”

Belial nodded, and slid between her legs. His own Effort was ready, had been practically since he decided on this course of action. “Of course, I’ll help you. You are my very favorite angel, did I ever tell you that?”

“No, but I feel the same about you.” Remiel’s tone was still professional, still polite. She looped her bound arms around his neck. “Please, kiss me again.”

He obliged as he entered her. It had been so long, but he remembered her, remembered them, before God enforced the gender dichotomy. Before God took sweet Remiel’s memories.

She cried out, into his mouth. God, she sounded so weak. He drew out as far as he could, and then thrust back in. Remiel threw her head back and her legs wrapped around Belial.

“Yes, my love,” she cried out. “Gabriel!”

“He’s dead, sunshine,” Belial said, over her. He grabbed her face and forced Remiel to meet his eyes. “What’s my name, angel?”

“Belial,” she said, sounding surprised. As if she’d accidentally walked in on him dressing. “I’m so sorry, Belial. I forgot myself.”

“S’okay.”

He kept moving inside her. Kept thrusting.

“What are you doing?” she asked. There was a fringe of wonder around her words. Pleasure radiated from her whole corporation, as he reached for the cock that was pressed between their bellies.

“Trying to get off,” he said, smiling as he started to stroke her. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Belial!” she cried out, startled. “Oh...what are you doing to me?”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, still stroking her cock.

“Y...Yes?”

Belial replied to her with a laugh. He ducked out of Remiel’s arms and flipped her over onto her stomach. He yanked her up on her knees. Her face in the pillows and her ass up in the air for him.

He was not going to last long.

He grabbed her hips, burying himself inside of Remiel. Her cries were muffled by the pillows.

It only took a few hard thrusts. Belial spilled into her, seed and essence both. He pushed as much of himself into her as he could. He felt his energy course through her. Remiel flushed gold, very close to orgasm from the transfer of essence.

“No, I don’t think so,” Belial said, pulling out of her roughly. “You don’t get to come yet. You have to earn that.”

Remiel fell on her side without Belial holding her up. He rolled her onto her back. She did not resist. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing hard.

Belial looked her all over. She wasn’t Falling. A sheen of sweat made her skin shimmer. The sweat smelled rank, which Belial knew was a good thing.

Whatever Pollution had used on her was leaving through her pores. He miracled it into a cut crystal decanter beside his bed that usually held water. The fluid was black and viscous. It radiated hate.

Some of Pollution’s ichor. Infused with demonic rage. Well, that would make it contagious to the ethereal. Bloody hard to get rid of, once it found a host.

And precariously easy for that host to Fall.

Belial’s own rage fueled him. His cock rose, more out of his fury than lust.

Remiel shuddered and then opened her eyes. “Belial?” she asked, brows knit and full of concern.

Well, at least she recognized him.

“Yeah, angel?”

“What’s going on?”

God, she looked so fragile, so confused. So _fucking_ trusting. He brushed a lock of her hair from her face, nuzzled her neck and laid a row of kisses down to her silver collar.

“I think there’s protocol against this sort of thing...”

“Not for me, sunshine.”

Belial shouldered Remiel’s knees and shoved her hands above her head. She looked away from him, burying her face into the flesh of her arm. A tear slipped from her eye and streaked down her cheek.

“Belial, why?” she asked, moaning the question into her arm.

“It’s not bad, though, is it?” he asked. His voice was crushed velvet, all temptation. His hand slid down to her cock. He used a miracle to keep her on the edge, unable to climax. Then, he stroked her.

Remiel groaned into her arm, grimacing.

“It’s not bad though, is it?” He was louder this time, more insistent.

“Please stop,” she whimpered, miserably. She was sweating again, and Belial miracled it into his decanter. “Please, Belial. Not like this.”

“How do you want it, angel?”

“I don’t...”

“Liar,” he whispered, an inch away from her face. He thrust into her.

Remiel wasn’t lying, and that was good. He didn’t want her to want this. The minute she consented was the minute that she started to Fall. Remiel didn’t belong in Hell. She was too pure. Too good. And he wouldn’t be able to protect her, not forever.

Anyways, the Apocalypse was coming, and soon. After that, God promised to return him to Heaven. To give Remiel back her memories.

Their memories. To let them be themselves.

Belial could have used a miracle to prolong their coupling, but the point was to spend as often as possible. Demonic essence and seed poured into her, as Remiel cried into her arm. She wouldn’t look at him.

He’d probably feel the same way if their positions were changed.

He pulled her up, keeping himself rigid with another miracle. He settled her on his lap, facing him. Her arms went around his neck. The motion was automatic, practiced from the sweaty nights they spent in the Garden. He held her against his chest, waiting for her breathing to slow. Pouring a few more drops of ichorous sweat into the decanter.

“Gabriel..?” she whimpered.

“Nope.”

“I’m sorry, Belial. I meant no disrespect,” she said. “I thought you were someone...I used to know...”

He stroked her hair, and she did not pull away from him. He kissed her on the head, felt her whole body relax into him. _So fucking trusting_ , Belial thought. That wouldn’t do, at all. Belial grabbed her by the waist and moved her up and down. The euphorics in her system were still working, and she followed his unspoken command. She rode him, though he kept his hands on her waist. Guiding her movements.

This wasn’t consensual. Of course not. Remiel was too drugged, was too out of it. She didn’t know what was going on.

“Belial...” she whispered. Smiled at him, beatifically.

Shit, she was lucid enough to recognize him. And she didn’t try to get away.

She kissed him. Deeply. Molding his mouth to fit hers, spearing at him with her tongue. He forced her down on him harder, and she cried out into his mouth. His name. She was calling his name.

His new one.

She wasn’t Falling. She couldn’t consent. Angels with confused minds, drugged by some of the venomous or poisonous demons, those angels didn’t Fall. They couldn’t choose, and everything in Hell was a matter of choice. With the collar on, she couldn’t heal his venom out.

He struck again, near the same place. Held her in place and injected her again. She cried out, not from pain. No, she was in a place where pain would only feel good.

Belial wanted to bite her, to use teeth and claws. Becoming a demon came with some new appetites. Gabriel had been a mild sadist. He gave as good as he got. Belial lusted for destruction. He wanted to break her.

Any blood that he took was essence that she needed to heal. Self-control was more difficult as a demon, especially since he’d never felt an urge for destruction that was as strong as his love for her.

Is that how demons loved, to destruction?

Remiel started laughing, joy and love radiating off of her. A warm wash, like sunlight, like a summer rainstorm. Belial felt himself peaking again, in her radiance. She cried out as he poured himself into her. Seed, essence, whatever she needed.

“Oh, Gabriel,” she said, lips finding his face, his neck, his own lips. “I thought I lost you...and you were here, the whole time. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m not your _fucking_ Gabriel,” he snarled, and threw her off of him.

“Liar.” Remiel was still laughing when she landed in the bank of pillows along his headboard. “It’d be more sporting if you’d undo my hands.” She held her bound wrists up to him.

He grabbed her wrists and forced them over her head, pinning her down with a great deal more force than was necessary. She cried out, but her eyes were eager.

“More,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left. Thanks for sticking with me.


	3. Heaven and Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the comfort part of hurt/comfort. Little more hurting, first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Rape, rough oral rape, forgiving an attacker, forced impregnation

“More,” she said.

“You want me to hurt you, angel?”

She kissed his nose. “Love me, Belial,” she said.

 _You wouldn’t feel it_ , he thought. “I can’t,” he said.

“Then fuck me. I want you.”

Her legs wrapped around his waist. She rocked under him, welcoming him.

He miracled away the slimy film of poisoned sweat. His lips found the flesh of her neck again, and he guided himself inside. Slow strokes, tenderness where she had demanded passion.

Remiel cried out for him. Both of his names. She knew what she was saying. She would Fall. She wouldn’t. She was out of her head.

She wasn’t. Not enough.

Belial had tried to protect her. To keep her away from Hell. Oh, but he’d underestimated her in the past.

They all had.

The smallest of the Archangels. Easy to overlook. She was so like the insects that she made. She’d found her way into his heart. Burrowed in, curled up, and stayed.

He could keep her here. She’d be fine. She’d be his, and none of his siblings would challenge that claim. He’d be hers. As it was always supposed to be.

One way or the other, she would survive.

“Belial, please,” she cried out. “Please...I’m so close...”

“Nope,” he said, jetting into her. “You have to earn that privilege.”

His essence entered her. It was easier now. He could pour more in. That could be a sign of her recovery, or it could be a sign of a change in her. The beginning of her Fall.

As the essences warred with each other, her bladder loosed. A wash of black slime soiled her, him, and his duvet. He sent it to the decanter with a thought.

It smelled awful.

“Did I just...?” she asked.

“You’re fine, sunshine. Don’t think about it,” he said, sliding out of her.

He looked at her. Remiel no longer felt like she was dying. And she wasn’t Falling. Good?

Belial knelt up and hauled Remiel up by the wrists. Her back up against his headboard, she looked up to him with those guileless blue eyes.

“You remember this, huh?” His cock, miraculously erect, hung in front of her face.

She nodded, smiling. So eager to make him happy. She lunged forward, as much as she could manage, with him pinning her wrists to the headboard. Kissing, tonguing. Teasing the base with little nips.

He sighed. She remembered. Half out of her head, she remembered. So did he. In a better time, he’d be doing the same to her. To them. Under the stars, or in some other beautiful place that she always found to show him.

He stroked her head with his free hand, and she met his eyes as she took the head of his cock into her mouth.

He smirked down at her. His hand gripped the back of her head and he forced her all the way down.

Remiel squeaked at the unexpected roughness, but obeyed.

How something so small could accommodate that much dick was a question he’d asked often through their years together. She did, though. He fucked her mouth, and she struggled to keep up. She didn’t need to breathe. Good thing that, because she probably couldn’t.

It was over quickly, and she swallowed him. Blackish tears streaked her face.

“Yeah, that hurt, didn’t it?” Belial said, miracling tears and sweat to the crystal decanter.

He lowered himself down on her thighs. This is how they began, today. Him holding her wrists, pinning her legs to the bed. Back when she still had the will and ability to fight him. He touched her face, stroked her cheek. She leaned into his fingers and sighed.

“Your wordzz and your actionzz are at oddzz,” Remiel said. Her usual precise, clipped speech was slipping. She was starting to buzz, like her insects. “Belial...why are you doing thizz?”

“I don’t have to have a reason. Demon, remember?”

“You’ve never not had a reazzon before.”

“Sweet baby Satan, sunshine, shut your damn mouth.”

Belial closed it for Remiel, with a crushing kiss. One that she returned. His hand went to her cock. She whimpered into his mouth as he began to stroke her eager Effort.

“You like this, huh?” he asked.

She nodded, kissing him again.

“You’ve been good, angel. I should be nice to you.”

Remiel was loose and floppy when he lifted her. He settled himself against the headboard, and lowered the angel onto his cock. Hard breath out through teeth as she adjusted to him. He ran his hands over her chest, finding her small breasts. Kneading them. She relaxed, leaning back against his chest. Draping her head over his shoulder.

His right hand found her cock, and he began to stroke her. She sighed, hot breath in his ear. Sheen of sweat, removed to the decanter.

Now, she was rocking. With no encouragement from him. She moved, and he moved with her. As they had, ages ago.

She was calling for him. Both of his names. Her bound wrists looped around his neck.

Remiel rode him. Grinding her pelvis into him, seeking her pleasure there.

He released her from the miracle holding her back, and felt her clench around him. Felt her cock seize and watched the thick ropes of gold (streaked black) explode from her.

He came a heartbeat later. Their essences mixed inside of her as he peppered her neck with kisses, avoiding the collar. As he cleaned her and sent the filth to mix with the rest.

“Belial...” she sighed. His name was music on her lips. As it always was, no matter which name she used.

He turned to her, and received a kiss as sweet as the honey her bees made. He lingered there, deep inside her with tongue and cock.

It’s a place that would be barred from him until the Apocalypse. Maybe longer, depending on how well he’d be able to explain himself.

“Hey, angel,” he said. “You think you could heal yourself now?”

“Don’t know,” she replied, languidly. “Can’t seem to work any miraclezz...zzorry, Belial.”

Belial pulled her arms up and ducked out from under them. Gently, he laid her hands in her lap, and flicked off the silver collar.

“Try again, sunshine,” he said.

She might have discorporated him. He’d have it coming. But she didn’t.

Instead, the rest of Pollution’s filth burst from her pores. It slicked her, him, his bed. Belial swept it away as quickly as he could.

He unbound her wrists, and laid his hands gently on her shoulders. Remiel’s whole body had gone stiff. She was shivering. He could feel so many emotions emanating off of her. Fear, paramount among them.

She’d healed his venom out of her. With everything else.

“Can I apologize?” he asked, brushing the newly denuded skin of her neck with his lips.

“You may,” she said, as calmly as if he was late for a meeting. Not as if he was still inside her, which he was. But her fear lessened, somewhat.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” she replied.

“I’m not,” he agreed. “I wish there was some other way, sunshine. But you were dying.”

Her fear was gone. Something warm replaced it. A small hand reached up and cupped his cheek.

“Whatever compassion that you were allowed to keep, don’t ever apologize for it. I know why you did what you did.”

“What the fuck were you doing on Earth, anyways?” Belial asked.

“Meeting you, I thought. You said it was urgent.” Remiel sighed. “Asmodeus can mimic your voice, as it turns out.” She paused. “They’re going to be very cross that their plan didn’t work.”

“Let me worry about that, okay?”

She nodded, still not making any move to uncouple them. He wondered what she was waiting for. Permission, probably. She was still in his realm.

He wrapped his arms around her. He was in no hurry, and if some weird protocol kept her like this, Belial would take it. He kissed the nape of her neck, and felt her skin warm under his lips.

She flushed like the sunrise and he always did like the dawn.

“Guess Lucifer’s going to want my skin, huh?” Belial said.

“I don’t think he’s going to be happy that I was hurt, but that’s not your fault,” she said. “He’s quite capable of blaming the whole of Hell for trying to kill me. All you did was save me.”

“Well...you’re his, though.”

“I never said that.”

“You never said that you weren’t.”

“Point.” Remiel sighed. “It’s complicated. I think Lucifer might want something like that...or, rather, might _think_ that he should want something like that.”

“But you haven’t?”

“He’s offered. Sex, but not anything deeper than that. I mean, sex is not a sin among angels. He’s not my direct supervisor. Fraternizing is frowned on in Heaven, but only if there’s a difference in rank.” Another heavy sigh. “I wasn’t interested.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so tired, Belial,” she said. He felt her sink into him. “Can I stay here? Just for a while. Toxins...are so hard on me.”

“I can get you back to Heaven, if you want.”

“I do not want.”

“Why not?”

“I’m in no hurry to hear Lucifer tell me that I chose my side and I’m no longer welcome in Heaven,” Remiel said.

“You didn’t Fall. I’d know,” he said, his voice tender. “You didn’t choose anything. I forced you. I raped you, angel.”

He was still, in fact, raping her. He was still inside, though barely. His blood had ebbed. He was slipping out.

“Let me stay with you, a little longer,” she asked. “Please, Belial.”

She was begging. He knew what she sounded like when she begged.

Belial gathered her into his arms and pulled the duvet down with an infernal miracle. He laid her in the bed, and climbed in after her. He curled up around her, wrapping his arms around her middle.

Grief radiated off of her. The sobs wracked Remiel’s body, and Belial held her as tightly as he could. Her grief felt like iron weights, pulling him down. Eventually, she went silent. Her breathing slowed. She slept.

And, though he had not done so in several millennia, so did Belial.

~*~

Belial woke up in his bed. Did he sleep? He must have. How long?

The clock by his bed told him that nearly a day had passed.

There was a soft weight on his chest. He could see the raven mop of hair in the near-dark of his bedroom.

She was still asleep. Remiel. His sweet angel.

He’d let her sleep as long as she needed. It was the least that he could do.

She felt peaceful. Whatever she was dreaming, it was pleasant. No nightmares. That was good, but probably wouldn’t last.

He wondered if she’d swear off sleeping as he had. Belial didn’t know.

He felt her stir. Remiel sat up, stretched, then found his hand in the dark.

“Morning,” she mumbled, sleepily. He could see the shine of her blue eyes in the dark. “Is it morning?”

“In an hour or so,” Belial said.

“Oh.”

He felt for her emotions. No fear. Warmth and affection settled over him like a warm blanket. She slipped back under the covers, laying her head on his chest.

“How long can I hide here?” she asked.

“I think your bugs are gonna miss you,” Belial said. “But why would you want to stay with me, angel?”

She didn’t answer him. Her warm breath tickled his chest in the dark. He stroked her hair, and felt her tears fall on his skin.

He felt her love. It radiated off of her, like the flickering light of a candle. Like the radiance of the sun.

“Please, don’t send me away.”

“Demons can’t love, sunshine,” Belial said, gently. “And since when have you had the warm fuzzies for me?”

“I had a bracelet...I don’t know what they did with it. I put a miracle on it. So you wouldn’t notice.”

“The bee bracelet? You’ve had that since...wow, before the Flood.”

“We forget you demons when you Fall...but, yesterday, you said I was yours in the Garden. Some things...I don’t think they can be forgotten,” she said. “I only ever had one lover. My Gabriel. Before he died in the war. But you didn’t die, did you?”

“Remy...”

“Did you?”

“Not exactly,” Belial admitted. “Okay, so I was Gabriel. But I’m not anymore. I think you can understand why I didn’t want you here.”

“‘I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell’.”

“It’s not that easy, sunshine.”

“It is precisely that easy,” she said, leaning up.

Her lips brushed his in the dark. He deepened the kiss, and her love washed over him.

“I can’t be the reason that you Fall,” he said, when they broke the kiss.

“Belial...”

“No, I’m taking you back.”

The silver collar clicked around her neck, ensuring that any arguments that Remiel might have had were stifled.

~*~

Remiel had glared at him through the process of finding her clothes, miraculously mending them, and dressing her. She cooperated well enough, providing him with the limbs that he asked for so that he could make her presentable. A short phone call explained the situation (editing out most of the parts that might make Lucifer decide that Belial had earned a flaming sword to the head) and summoned Lucifer to the lobby to collect Remiel.

He had not asked for ransom or prisoner exchange.

And now, he was there, in the lobby that separated the infernal and the ethereal. An uncharacteristic rage emanated off of the angel in front of him, the one that he led by the shoulders to where Lucifer waited.

“Here she is,” Belial said, by way of greeting. “Safe and sound.”

Lucifer’s green eyes widened. “Uh...Remy?”

The use of the nickname made Belial uncomfortable. He could feel that it did the same for Remiel.

“Yes?” she asked, a bit waspishly.

“You know you can’t go back to Heaven like this?”

Remiel looked up at Belial. “I told you.”

“She’s not Fallen,” Belial said, helplessly. “She didn’t Fall! I know she didn’t Fall.”

“Oh, she’s not Fallen,” Lucifer said, calmly running his hands along the lapels of his fine, sand-colored suit. “I’m not allowed to bring the property of Hell into Heaven.”

“I’m. A. Demon,” Belial said, getting thoroughly tired of having to explain the patent fact of his anatomy to Remiel and now to Lucifer. “I can’t claim an angel. Especially, not an Archangel.”

“Not her, Belial,” Lucifer said, and his tone was oddly tender. “It’s weird to be the one telling you, but, well...unto you, a child is born.”

“What now?”

“Whatever your intentions were, Remiel carries the Antichrist. And that’s definitely yours, brother.”

Lucifer turned back to the lifts, leaving Remiel and Belial behind.

“You’re pregnant?” Belial asked her.

“Guess so. Lucifer wouldn’t lie.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t feel any different,” Remiel turned to Belial and hugged him. “Well, I’m hungry.”

Belial stroked her hair, unsure of what the future held beyond a good meal.

“Belial?” she asked.

“Yeah, sunshine.”

“Take that fucking collar off of me,” she said. “And if you put it back on, expect a swift discorporation. By knife, if I have to.”

Belial had a moment where he wondered if God had put the right one in Hell, as he flicked the collar off of her.

“There’s an excellent buffet not far from here, oh, and I’m going to have to tell Iblis.”

“Of course,” Belial said, a small smile playing on his lips. His life wasn’t the only one about to get dreadfully complicated. “Call from the restaurant?”

“Yes, now come down here,” she said.

Belial obeyed, and she kissed him. The fierceness of her love, the love of God’s-Compassion-Whether-You-Want-It-Or-Not, broke over him. It was a sea of candle wax, hot and drowning. Overwhelming.

He loved it. He loved her.

“We’re raising him, of course,” she said. “I’m not trusting our child to the humans.”

“That’s the Divine Plan,” Belial countered.

“If that’s what She wants, then She can make her own Antichrist. This one’s yours.” She paused. “Ours.”

“Ours,” Belial agreed. The word felt good in his mouth. “Ours.”

“Excelsior. Now, feed me.”

The Apocalypse began to tick on an autumn day, where the streets burst with light and color. The trees looked especially radiant that year, decked in golds and crimsons. The gentle morning sun passed through those leaves like stained glass, pattering the concrete with color and shadow.

An angel and a demon went to a very well-rated buffet, to talk about a future that belonged to both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's finished. I'm not planning on writing about the pregnancy nor domestic life in Hell. 
> 
> If someone else wants to, you have my blessing. Link back to the original work. 
> 
> Writers are fragile creatures. We sustain ourselves on comments and kudos.


End file.
